


Homecoming

by junebugrebellion



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint's been gone, F/M, Natasha's been alone, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, everyone is sad, fun times man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 03:32:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3594780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junebugrebellion/pseuds/junebugrebellion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe it's that he cares. Maybe it's that he knows. Maybe it's that only a genuine dumbass, her genuine dumbass, could put his shooter's mental health before his physical safety.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

Days pass. Days and weeks and nearly a month since the fiasco in Washington. Natasha isn't sure how much she has changed, but she still sleeps with a gun under her pillow, her fingers wrapped around it as she never quite slips into REM. She cleared out one of her alias' bank accounts a week ago, and now, she has enough money to stay at a half-decent Hilton under the name Eliza Kelly. She hasn't had the time or the drive to come up with a backstory, just that Eliza recently broke up with a douchebag boyfriend and has no where else to go but this hotel room. 

That's something she and Eliza have in common. Natasha tends to thread her identities with pieces of her, making them just a hair easier to take on, but, hell, she isn't sure she could pretend to have somewhere safe at this point. Her barracks at SHIELD are gone, along with the entire organization that was almost home. Steve needs time for himself, time to adjust to James Barnes being alive. 

(Natasha almost remembers him, in the back of her mind, in the fog of her re-worked memories. Odessa, yes, but that wasn't the first time.)

Fury is gone. Hill is applying for Stark. Clint is...

Clint's god knows where doing god knows what, has been for months.

They've always had a strange rhythm which they both follow. 

HYDRA is still following her, she's sure of it. But, they don't seem to be after Eliza just yet, and she takes it as a victory. She needs victories, these days. 

The cleaning staff knocks on her door, and she jumps. A car cuts her off, and she ducks to reach for a pistol. Someone turns too quickly in the street, and she almost starts running. 

It's amazing how quickly she grew used to being part of an organization after defecting from one. Perhaps she has not changed as much as she forces herself to believe. 

 

 

She wakes at twelve-thirty to the sound of her door unlocking itself. She's on her feet instantly, armed and more dangerous than usual, and she doesn't hesitate to aim at the opening door. 

"Nat?" A beat. "Jesus, put the gun down!"

Clint Barton is standing in her doorway, hands in the air, bandage over his nose.

She nearly drops the gun with the intent of throwing her arms around him. But, she resists. She does, however, reposition so she'd shoot his shoulder, not his head. "Where have you been, Clint?"

"I came as soon as... As everything went to shit, I guess. Why are you still pointing that at me?"

_Because I'm scared to death you're not on my side anymore_. "If you're here to kill me, let's get it over with."

He looks as if she slapped him across the face: shocked, appalled, confused, offended, hurt. "Why would I want to kill you? What's happening? Are you..." His eyes go wide as he checks for injuries, checks for signs of her being harmed. He'll find those later, if he lives. "Are you with me, Natasha?"

Her hands nearly tremble. That's their phrase, that's how they save each other. He's checking to see if she's slipped back into the Red Room due to everything that's happened, and somehow, that convinces her. Maybe it's that he cares. Maybe it's that he knows. Maybe it's that only a genuine dumbass, her genuine dumbass, could put his shooter's mental health before his physical safety.

As she lays the gun on the bed, she says, "I'm with you."

It isn't romantic. It doesn't deserve swelling music. She simply walks over and stands on her toes and wraps her arms around his shoulders. He follows suit, holding her close. His head tucks into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. It isn't totally right. This isn't as warm, as comforting as it used to be. He may still be the closest thing to her home, but that home is made of broken windows and peeling wallpaper. When he speaks, she forces herself not to jump. "I missed you."

"You missed everything."

**Author's Note:**

> This goes best with my other drabble, I'm With You, just because of the continuity of phrases. They aren't directly connected, however.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
